


MCYT One shots

by loomniu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sad Ending, all platonic btw - Freeform, i am struggling, i need some assisstance, i think i just posted something that was a draft pls, inconsistent updates ):, ive never used ao3 before, sapnaps a pyromaniac but wbk, so much suffering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loomniu/pseuds/loomniu
Summary: Requests open.
Relationships: nasty lmao, shippers dni - Relationship
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26





	1. Requests/Prompts

Hi! This is a normal oneshot book with MCYTers. Feel free to request whatever you want in the comments, and I'll be happy to write them for you. I am in no way the best writer; I've never published or written something on ao3, so this'll be a journey.

I'm willing to do most things, within reason. I will not do smut period. I won't do ships either (unless the characters involved have stated explicitly that they are okay with it). 

You can request the most angstiest shit if you want to vent, or if you just want fluff, I can do that too! I'm giving you guys free reign. I'll occasionally add my own oneshots as I have a few ideas too, so don't fret if I don't do yours right away.

That's about it- I hope you enjoy :D

-Niu


	2. Burn It Down (Sapnap-Centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyro Sapnap.
> 
> You know what they say: addiction is a painful thing to overcome.

The prime path was useless. Walking up and down it every day, holes mocking every pedestrian. Taunting, some would go as far as to say, it's deep layers hidden beneath withering planks. One wrong step, and it'll send you plummeting down. A leg broken, surely, scraps and bruises for days you'd obtain. It was a dangerous route to take, despite it being one of the most successful landmarks in the entire SMP. Sapnap had always avoided it: too many T's running along that path, for the money or the thrill the American would never know. He considered it being both for one of the two boys, reckless as they were. He never wished to run into the annoying loudmouth again, thus avoiding the path's moulding edges like the plague.

Until now, apparently.

The man of nineteen years had little experience with fire until about a year ago when, during a manhunt, he had been forced to set up camp. It was just him versus Dream at the time; they had wanted some time to bond to themselves, despite their ways of pass-time being questionable at best. Though, this said excursions could take days with a bad hunter, or a bad seed. Dream, being an Admin, was able to create separate worlds, allowing manhunts to be done easily. This meant, however, that Sapnap needed to learn some survival skills. He'd known how to start a fire, obviously, it was something taught when he was young. But he never appreciated the beauty of the flames.

The unpredictability, the danger of coming to close, the damage and destruction that could be done in a matter of minutes. It had fascinated him beyond belief, reaching out toward the flames and bubbling with laughter as he felt his hand go raw. He brought his hand back and admired it's handiwork, looking madly between the campfire and his injured hand, cradling it carefully. Only a few seconds in it's proximity and it had done this! 

He set fire to a few twigs that night, coughing up a complete forest fire. But he was long gone by the time it had spread, and if that world was partly destroyed- well. That was for Sapnap to know.

Running a hand along the scars he'd received, Sapnap brought himself back into the present. His own heartbeat thrum in his ears as he sauntered along the prime path, something he'd never catch himself doing a month ago. Cracking his fingers uselessly, he drew his hands away from the burns and wrapped his hand around an object in his pocket.

A flint and steel.

He always had it on him, now; a comfortable weight that stayed with him wherever he went. He held onto it when he needed to, be it when stressed or pissed off. He'd never use it, no, it was only a reassurance: how it helped him calm down, Sapnap had no idea. Though it did, and so it stuck.

He passed a few structures, (a random cobble building to his left, the community house staying dormant behind him) before passing by a house. Tubbo's house, to be exact. It's brick fences keeping Sapnap from getting a good view, though from above it's intricacy you could make out the roof of a wooden building.

Do it. Burn it down. 

Everything you need is in your pocket. He's your enemy, do Dream a favour. 

You haven't done shit in this war, now light it up.

Sapnap clenched the hand that was not holding the flint and steel. He'd had instances of impulsive thoughts (go on, light the lemon tree.) though he never acted. It wasn't what he wanted. Yes it was.

It had never materialised into voices, though. Overpowering and loud, it was all he could think about as he tried to tear his gaze from the house: burn it. Burn it down. You know you want to.

And fuck, he did.

His head filled with cotton, his body on autopilot as he entered Tubbo's property. He'd spent ages making this, and now it was all going up in flames.

It filled Sapnap with a numbing sense of adrenaline.

He didn't give a shit if the younger boy was home: it was all going to burn, regardless of it's inhabitants. His mind was overbearing, telling him to go to the backend of the house.

He did.

It told him to make a spark.

He did.

It told him to let the bitch burn.

He did.

He stepped back and watched in morbid satisfaction as the flames scaled the walls, the smell of burnt wood filing his nostrils. He didn't move yet, allowing the heat from the rising fire taunt him, giddiness bubbling in his chest. He felt the satisfaction seep in as black smoke filled the sky like a warm blanket; he supposed it was. The bright lights considered to be stars could only barely be seen shining through: good, those small balls of flame deserved to be a witness to the painting he was making. A beautiful monument. A memorable sculpture.

A dull cry could be heard from inside the house, desperate and waning, though it went unnoticed by the pyromaniac. He was too far gone, too caught in his revelry, too caught up in his twisted mind, too focused on the flint and steel in his hand-

He didn't notice the death message that filled his communicators screen:

Tubbo_ was burned to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suffering eternally


	3. A Presidents Ruling (WilburSoot-centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ive been dead for a while
> 
> well, i hoped yall had a good christmas ig lmao
> 
> ill start updating more, but i have a book in the works if yall wanna see that? idk, but for now, take this wilbur-centric oneshot!
> 
> tw//character death

Stuffed between walls of fake silver encased in riches promising a neverland, Wilbur Soot found himself reaching for the sun.

Ambitious and young, he had an impulsive goal; create a country and make it powerful. He deluded himself in his own fantasies, because even after wars were sought and won, they'd never be their own. Ambitious and young, he let his naivety drive himself mad, betrayals of a friend- a best friend, he'd go as far as to say- being a consequence of trusting.

He moved on.

Ambitious and cocky, he had an impulsive goal; be a rightful dictator and become powerful. An election was announced to this citizens of his nation, and he couldn't be more happier; there was no doubt he wouldn't win with his popularity, even as a new contender entered his playing field. He was on top. He always was; you can't beat him at his own game. He would win, and then everything would be in place.

He lost.

Ambitious and alone, he had an impulsive goal; take back his country. He was its rightful ruler. He's lead it through wars no man should fight in, brought it up from a mere caravan in the woods and treated it with care. It was his, and there was a tyrant ruling his land- he was going to get it back. He's going to get it back, and he'll do everything in his power to try. He'd fight with his words; that was the L'manburg way.

Tubbo died.

Ambitious and spiralling, he had an impulsive goal; blow it to smithereens. It was no longer fighting for. He lost his nation the moment that tyrant joined for the first time. He turned everyone against him, stripped him of his dignity and tossed him to the side like dirt beneath his boot. No one was to be trusted, anymore. His own son rallied against him. L'manburg was too good for tainted citizens. It was his nation, till the very end. And he wanted it gone.

He blew it up.  
.  
Ambitious and tired, he had an impulsive goal; die. He was no longer worth fighting for, his purpose finally fulfilled. He wasn't happy. Paranoia clawed at his senses until he wanted to tear himself apart and he was tired. He begged his father to kill him, one final wish from one shit man to another. He wanted to leave this plane so, so, badly. He wanted to be free.

He was killed.

He was at peace, finally.

_But then this motherfucker decided to go and fucking resurrect him god fucking damn it you stupid chil-_


End file.
